


Salut D'Amour

by dreamingformuses



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: AU- No Magic, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Angst, Baz is a Professional Violinist, Bisexual Simon Snow, Completed, F/M, Fluff, Gay Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Biphobia, M/M, More tags to be added, Normal Baz, Normal Simon, Proposals, SnowBaz, Snowbaz angst, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch Is Gay for Simon Snow, Violinist Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, brief simon/agatha, eventual snowbaz, snowbaz au, snowbaz fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingformuses/pseuds/dreamingformuses
Summary: When Simon plans to propose to Agatha, he hires a professional violinist names Baz Pitch to help 'set the mood'.





	1. Pretty Boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Snowbaz fic! I hope I do it justice. I found this prompt on tumblr on numptypitch's blog, and all the comments were "someone write this!!!" Nobody stepped up to the challenge, so here I am.
> 
> I'm a violinist, so when things are from Baz's POV- he may use some music jargon. Check the notes at the end for definitions if you're unsure of something. 
> 
> Leave kudos and comment!!!!

_**SIMON** _

This was it. Tonight was the big night. I had been planning this for months, and everything had to be perfect.

Or else.

I stood in front of the mirror, and fiddled with the buttons on my suit jacket. I ran a hand through my hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame my mess of curls.

Tonight was the night I was going to propose to Agatha. We’d been together since school. How could I go this long with her and _not_ marry her? She made a wonderful girlfriend. I bet she’d make an even better wife. I picked up my phone and went through the schedule one more time. I needed to be at the restaurant by six-thirty to meet with the wait staff and musician that I had hired. Agatha was a classy girl, and what better way to “class up” a situation than with a bit of classical music?

I don’t know. I was trying really hard for her, even if half the stuff she liked went over my head. All her shows, and galas, and regattas. All her fancy people stuff. I just didn’t get it. Well, you know what they say. Happy soon-to-be wife, happy life.

I grabbed my keys and made sure that the small box that held the ring was safely inside my pocket. It was a cold autumn day, and my breath came out in little clouds as I walked to the tube station. After we left school, we got a flat in Chiswick, not too far from Central London. It was a great location. Not too far from our offices, and a short tube ride to London’s nightlife. And, we were only a block away from the river. I’m glad that her family’s helping us pay the rent. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have even begun to dream about living here.

I got off the train in Wimbledon. The restaurant was a few shops down from the exit of the station, so it made for a short walk. I had told Agatha to meet me there at seven, and when I glanced down at my watch, I saw that I still had a good amount of time left. I opened the heavy door, and was greeted with a rush of warm air. I took off my overcoat as I explained the situation to the hostess. She said that, “Yes, I remember you calling earlier. Your violinist is over in the back corner over there. That’s my favorite table.” Moira, as I learned her name was, lead me back into the bowels of the restaurant.

The table was lit by warm candlelight, and partly hidden from view of the general public by a huge potted plant. Ten or so feet away was a little alcove where the violinist was setting up. I draped my coat over the back of one of the chairs and went over to greet him.

“Hey! I’m Simon.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m the one who hired you tonight.” He looked up from whatever he was doing. Rubbing something on the bow, by the looks of it, and returned my handshake.

“Baz Pitch. It’s nice to meet you in person, and not just over email.” he said. This was the first time I had seen his face, and Aleister Crowley, was it a sight to behold. I mean, I knew that I wasn’t completely straight, even if I hadn’t told anybody, but goodness gracious. He was beautiful, in a statuesque kind of way. He looked like one of those men in those old portraits of lords and ladies and such. He had an air of regality about him, and just by being in his presence made you want to sit a little straighter and push your shoulders back and down.

I tried to regain control over my thoughts. “Right. I’m going to propose to my girlfriend tonight, and I thought that music might help “set the mood”. We’re sitting just over there.” I pointed to our table. “I don’t really know classical music that well, so what sort of songs would you suggest for this type of occasion? My knowledge extends to about Fur Elise, and stops there.” I laughed awkwardly, and Baz smiled. He looked gorgeous when he smiled.

“Well, you’re proposing, right? When you pull out the ring, I’ll start playing a song by Elgar called Salut D’Amour.” Was that French? I don’t know. Sounded French. Baz has a nice French accent. “It’s the most romantic piece that comes to mind. Otherwise, when you’re just sitting and eating, I’ll do some general background music. I can play Romantic Era pieces, if you like.” I’m not sure what that means. But, ‘Romantic Era’ sounds promising.

“Yeah. That sounds good. Agatha, my girlfriend, is supposed to get here around seven. Would you mind if you’re already playing when she sits down? I dunno, I’ll signal you or something.” Baz smiled again, and I felt lucky to be granted with another moment of pure beauty. Not that he wasn’t pretty when he wasn’t smiling. ‘Cause he was. Very pretty. All the time.

_**BAZ** _

I make surprisingly good money as a freelance violinist in London. I do gigs, both solo and with a group, and I record chamber music, as well. Every once in a while, I’ll get invited to be a soloist with one orchestra or another, and I live for those performances. Sometimes, I forget just how good I sound in a concert hall with an orchestra at my back. I’m enthralled by the feeling of having the audience in the palm of my hand, and getting them to react just the way I want them to.

Tonight is one of my more low-key nights. I’m pretty thankful, actually. This weekend marks the beginning of a series of music festivals all over Britain. I won’t be in my own apartment over the weekend for a while. But, it’s fun. I meet up with some friends, and we’ll all travel together. Anyway, I get gigs like this a lot. I play at weddings, dances, really any place they need a classical violinist.

Proposals are pretty standard. I’ve got playlists for each type of event I play at, and of course I’ll play whatever the client wants. I got to the restaurant before the client did, and so I asked the hostess where I should set up. She said that she’d put them in the back corner, and so that’s where I went. It’s a perfect little spot. Private, and there’s space for everything. And, the acoustics aren’t too bad, either. I put my case and music down, in a little alcove just the length of my case. I took my stand out of it’s flimsy fabric case and begun to reassemble it. When I finish, I stood it up and put my music on the ledge. I took my case off the floor and sit in a chair to unpack. My violin was really out of tune. I sat it back in the case and scrubbed some rosin on my bow. It needed it, that’s for sure.

I saw the hostess leading someone else back here, and I could only assume that was my client. He offered his hand and introduces himself, and told me how he planned to propose to his girlfriend tonight.” He was cute. Simon, he told me, wasn’t just cute. He was devastatingly handsome. Ten out of ten on his gorgeous tan skin and bronze hair. And those _eyes._ Bright blue. Almost too blue. It’s a pity he was straight. Why do I always have to fall in love with straight boys? Ugh, this is like grade school all over again.

I can’t say I wasn’t instantly more excited to be here, though. I got to look at a pretty boy the whole time. I talked to him about what I was going so play, and asked if he had any particular requests. He didn’t. Which is fairly uncommon in my arena. You’d be surprised how opinionated people are. One wedding that I played for almost didn’t pay me because I played Handel. I mean, Handel at a wedding is pretty standard. When they told me, halfway through my set, that they didn’t want any Handel, I was confused. But, I put on my difficult client face and played everything but Handel. In fact, I played Haydn. Just to spite them.

Not long after, what I assumed to be Simon’s girlfriend was escorted back here by one of the wait staff. She was pretty as well, in a pale, faerie-like way. She was tall, and willowy, and had white-blonde hair and the palest skin I’d ever seen to match. She was wearing an expensive coat and was carrying a designer handbag. She took her coat off as Simon stood up to give her a quick kiss and a hug. They made a cute couple, that’s for sure.

They sat down and I began to play. Some of the other people sitting around me looked up and smiled. One older gentleman, actually turned around and watched for a moment. The time flew by as I played solo concerto after solo concerto. Mendelssohn and Tchaikovsky. Simon told me in the email that he sent that he planned to propose after they had finished eating their main course. Then, the wait staff would come out with a little congratulatory dessert, and they’d kiss and leave. I’d get paid over Venmo, and then I’d leave too. Simple. Easy. Soon, their plates were clean and Simon looked right at me with those crazy-blue eyes. He made a little rolling motion with his hand, and I launched into Salut D’Amour.


	2. Easy to Talk To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first Snowbaz fic! I hope I do it justice. I found this prompt on tumblr on numptypitch's blog, and all the comments were "someone write this!!!" Nobody stepped up to the challenge, so here I am.
> 
> I'm a violinist, so when things are from Baz's POV- he may use some music jargon. Check the notes at the end for definitions if you're unsure of something. 
> 
> Leave kudos and comment!!!!

_**SIMON** _

I signaled for Baz to begin playing. He nodded a reply, and started to play a song that I assumed was the one he mentioned earlier. ‘Bonjour l’Amour’ or whatever it was called. 

Whatever it’s name was, it sure was romantic. He had good taste. I finished what I was saying and then began to recite this speech I wanted to say before I pulled out the ring.

“Agatha?” I started.

“Yeah?” She said, and put her wine glass down.

“So, um, we’ve been together for a long time, right?” She nodded. “And you know that I love you. Like a ridiculous amount. I’d do anything for you. I’ve been thinking about this for a while- and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I stood up from my chair and got on one knee beside her chair. “Agatha Wellbelove, will you marry me?”

People sitting at the table around us began to take notice. They turned around to face us, and like me, eagerly awaited Agatha’s answer. She brought her hands to cover her mouth, and I could see the faintest shine of tears in her eyes. She put her hands back in her lap, and whispered a faint “Simon…”

“What?” I laughed.

“Simon… I can’t.” She said. A tear escaped from her eye.

“What? Why?” I said, confused. All the people around us poised to congratulate us awkwardly turned back around and continued eating. I got back in my chair, and took her hands from across the table. “Agatha? Why not?” I didn’t understand.

“It’s not that I don’t love you. Because I do. Really. It’s just that I was talking to my parents about this. I thought you’d propose soon. And they like you. They do, I promise. And I love you. But we just agreed that you wouldn’t be a suitable choice to marry. They don’t want you to be the one to inherit the Wellbelove estate. We think you’re just… too lower class.”

“Too _lower class_? Agatha! Are you even hearing yourself right now? That’s crazy.”

“I’m just trying to do right by my family! That’s not crazy!” Agatha’s words were much harsher now.

“Well, who cares about your family? We’re in love, right? And this is what in-love people do. They get married, and have kids, and everything works out at the end.”

“ _I_ care. If that’s apparently not evident enough. And, they didn’t want me to marry someone like you.”

“A ‘lower class’ person? Yeah. You’ve made that clear.”

“No. That’s not what I mean. You _know_ what I mean.” Agatha sighed aggressively.

“No. I don’t. What do you mean?” I scowled.

“They don’t want me to marry you because you’re bisexual. Well, they used a different term.”

“What term did they use?”

“Simon, I-”

“You’re obviously fine sharing other uncomfortable details. What did they use?” I was really angry now. I had tentatively told Agatha about this, and she seemed fine about it. But, she had obviously gone and told her parents, which is definitely _not_ part of our deal. I knew her parents were more conservative, but this? The homophobia? That was new.

“What did they say?” I sputtered. “What did they say!” People around us began to stare again. “Tell me what they said!”

Agatha looked down at her plate. “They called you a faggot. They said you were faking your love for me.”

Words couldn’t describe what I felt at that moment. The closest I can get is pure, unadulterated rage. I _hated_ Agatha’s parents now. I _hated_ Agatha. “Go.”

**_BAZ_ **

This is the most awkward I’ve felt in a long time. Simon’s darling girlfriend totally rejected his proposal, and they both looked like they were about to burst into tears at the drop of a hat. They were almost shouting at each other. From what I could overhear, Agatha rejected Simon’s proposal because he wasn’t up to her standards. Pretty much. I kept playing, unsure of whether I should stop.

The argument had heated up even more. Now, her parents didn’t like him because he was bi. Simon was bi. There was a god. When I heard that, I almost dropped my violin. I was shocked, and instead of focusing on the music, there was only one thought at the front of my mind.

_I had a chance._

I could hear everything now. They were actually yelling, and drawing way more attention to themselves than they needed to be. Couldn’t people have a civil argument anymore? Simon told Agatha to leave, and so she picked up her coat and purse, and stormed out of the restaurant. Honestly, I felt terrible for Simon. He obviously loved her very much, and she refused his proposal for such a petty reason. I seriously don’t why bisexual people get so much shit, even from the LGBT community. Like “B” is in the acronym. They exist. End of story.

I finished the song I was playing, and put my violin down to rest in its case. I gathered my music, and set it in a pile by the feet of my stand. If I wanted to talk to him like a person, rather than a client, this would be my last chance. I walked over to Simon’s table, and saw that while he held his head in his hands, tears fell from his eyes.

“Hey. You okay?” I asked. He looked up at me, and wiped a sleeve over his eyes. They were now rimmed with red.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks. Do you want me to pay you now? Or…” he reached for his wallet.

“No. Don’t be silly. I heard what happened, and that really sucks. I’m sorry.” I offered. He smiled sadly.

“It’s not your fault. I just thought that what we had was real, you know?” Another tear slipped out of his eye and ran down his perfect face.

“You sound like you need somebody to talk to. Do you mind if I sit with you?” I asked. This was it. If he declined, I’d probably never see him again.

“Sure. I mean, why waste a perfectly good reservation?” He laughed humorlessly at his own joke.

“My thoughts exactly.”

**_SIMON_ **

Fate really hates me, I guess. First, I basically broke up with Agatha, and now, the world’s best-looking guy _ever_ wants to sit with me while I cry and bitch and moan about my relationship problems. I mean, I hired this guy to play the violin for me. Now, he seems to be genuinely concerned for me, and wants to talk to me like a friend, instead of just one of his customers. Not to mention, my heart is basically jumping out of my chest at the mere thought of just talking to him. He’s looking at me, and his eyebrows are tilted up and furrowed in such a way that makes me weak. He smiles a sad smile, to match the one I gave him earlier. He says, “I know this can be hard. When I got out of a long-term relationship, I honestly thought I was going to die. So, I’m not going to tell you to cheer up, and savor being single again, because I know that’s not what you want to hear.” Damn right it isn’t. “It’s okay to cry, and to be sad, and betrayal is one of the worst feelings in the world.”

“I just- I thought that we were going good. Like, we spent last Christmas with her parents, and they seemed to like me. But, that was before. And now- I don’t even know what to think about them.”

“Before what?” Baz asks. Then, he does the unspeakable. He takes my hands in his from across the table, and looks into my eyes. Baz was almost a complete stranger, and this felt so _intimate_ . I don’t know if I’d ever done anything this intimate with Agatha, and we had _slept together_.

**_BAZ_ **

Simon’s hands are really warm. It’s nice, really. My hands are usually cold. If we kept like this for a while, we would probably reach a nice equilibrium. Like two parts of the same duet.

**_SIMON_ **

I took a deep breath. This would be the first time I’d come out to a stranger. But, Baz felt so easy to talk to. It was weird. Like just talking to him made me want to tell him more. “Before I came out to Agatha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> music words:  
> duet: a piece of music written for two instruments.


	3. Is he flirting with me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz joins Simon at his table, and they talk.

_**BAZ** _

From overhearing their conversation (argument) earlier, I knew Simon was bi. But, a really important step to coming out is admitting it to other people, other than your close friends and family. I knew it took _me_ a long time to come out to the general public. “Hey,” I said. “Coming out is hard. Believe me, I know. When I came out to my dad, he was in denial for a long time. He was still in denial after I got my first boyfriend.”

Simon laughed. That was something, I guess. Getting him to laugh, while I was sure he was still feeling terrible. “I was in denial too. I told myself I was straight for a long time. I didn’t want to believe it, you know? Like I had a girlfriend, so I _had_ to be straight. I only really started to come out to myself around six months ago. And even then, it was kinda iffy.”

“Well, no matter now. I feel like you just told me your whole life story, and I barely know you. Tell me about yourself.” And I present to you, ladies and gentlemen, and anyone in between, the world’s worst attempt at flirting. I wasn’t even sure if he’d pick up on it.

“Um, well, my name is Simon Snow, I’m twenty-six years old, and I just got rejected by my girlfriend.” He laughed mirthlessly.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m gonna need more than that.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about you, either! So, why don’t you tell me something about _you_ now. You know a lot more about me than I do about you.” He sassed me right back.

“I’m a violinist. I went to university at the Royal Conservatory, and my family is pretty wealthy. Pretentious. Old money. You know the type. Like, my first name isn’t Baz. It’s _Tyrannus_. Isn’t that horrible?”

Simon snorted. “That, my good sir, is child abuse.”

“I came out my summer before I went off to college. It was good timing, too, because if I wasn’t already leaving, I’m pretty sure my father would have kicked me out. Even now, the only thing keeping me in the inheritance is my aunt. Guess we’ve both got pretty terrible coming out experiences.”

“That’s not true. Coming out to you- well, formally- wasn’t that bad. Albeit, embarrassing, but not _unpleasant_.” Simon said. I don’t know whether or not he was trying to be diplomatic or sincere.

“It’s fine. Same here. Although, I’m pretty open about it nowadays. Wouldn’t have wished for anything different, except for a partner right about now.” There. I had done it. I made my move, and all I could hope for is that he would pick up on it. Although, I’m not sure he would, considering he may or may not still be with his partner. I guess, at this point, only time would tell.

**_SIMON_ **

Was he flirting with me? I don’t know. I’d never been much of a good flirter, anyway. Agatha was always much better at that than me. Would he try to flirt with me? I mean, would he even want to date me? I wasn’t _gay_ . Did he only like gay men? So many questions, and so little time. My head raced as I tried to think of a semi-coherent answer. Anything, really. Just something that wasn’t a jumble of words. “I could say the same. About the, um, wanting a partner right now part. Well, not a partner, per say. Just a shoulder to cry and complain on would be great.” Was _I_ flirting with him? I wasn’t even sure. I still don’t know.

Then, I found out that God _was_ real. Baz said, “I’ll be that shoulder, if you want. Do you want to order a few more drinks? We can talk some more, and you can complain and cry all you want. Or, not, if you don’t want to. It’s all up to you.” He was offering to stay with me, out of his own free will. In an oddly date-like situation. If that had happened with a hetero couple, it would have definitely been a date. Even though he was gay, was that just a ‘bros-being-bros’ thing to do? Or was he asking me out. Well, rather, asking me to stay.

“That sounds lovely.” I said, and flagged down our waitress. “I’ll have another glass of wine, and whatever he’s having.”

“The pinot grigio, right?” she asked. I nodded in confirmation as she turned to face Baz.

“I’ll have a glass of the house red. And dessert to share?” He looked at me for agreement.

“Yeah. Sounds good. What would you recommend?” I asked. We ended up getting tiramisu. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a bros-being-bros situation anymore. Here we were, in an absurdly expensive restaurant, sipping wine and sharing a plate of tiramisu. The only thing that would be more cliche is if we were drinking a milkshake from the same glass with two straws. We talked for a while, and then Baz finally asked a serious question.

“So, what about you? Where are you from? What do you do? Who are you, Simon Snow?” He sat back in his chair and put his wine glass down.

“Um, well, I’m from Lancashire.” I started. Baz stopped me right there.

“Northern England? Really? You don’t have the accent.” he marveled.

“Well, at least I think so. I grew up in foster care. The first home I can remember is in Lancashire, but maybe my parents are from down south, if I don’t have the accent.”

“Maybe…” Baz mused.

“I live in Kew, and I’m an executive billing coordinator at Lloyd’s. It sounds fancy, but it’s really just a boring desk job. I don’t know if I live with my girlfriend anymore, considering I told her to leave and her family helps us pay rent.”

“I’m sorry. If there’s any way I could help, let me know.” He said, and did that thing where he held my hands in his again. It was undeniably nice.

“Hey, it doesn’t need to be your problem, too. Now, your turn. Your life seems much more interesting than mine. What is playing the violin like?” I was anxious to keep the conversation alive.

“As I said, I graduated form the Royal Conservatory of Music, and as you know from our emails, I’m a freelance violinist. I mostly play at gigs like this, as well as festivals, but sometimes I get asked to play with an orchestra.”

“Do you like playing with an orchestra, or things like this better?”

He thought for a moment, and then said, “I’m not sure. There’s nothing like the rush of a sold out performance, but if I didn’t do gigs, I wouldn’t get to meet people like you.”

“People like me?” I laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“All good things, I assure you. It’s just that meeting interesting people makes the job fun. I’ve played for everything from weddings of lords and ladies, to part of a house band for an underground speakeasy. And, the added benefit of meeting hot guys and celebrities.” _Hot guys_? Was he making a generalization? Or talking about me? “Once, a few months ago, I played at a party that Cara Delevingne hosted. Needless to say, that was a fun night. Regardless of the perks, it’s things like this that I love. The unexpected intimate moments.” Intimate was right. He was staring right into my eyes, and his hands were still wrapped around mine.

Here was my chance. I wasn’t a good flirter, but I was good at being direct. “Do you… maybe want to do this again? One of these ‘unexpected moments’? I really enjoyed talking to you tonight. Are you free anytime soon?” I really hoped he was, and that he wouldn’t turn me down.

**_BAZ_ **

Holy mother of all that is good. Simon had just asked me what I was too scared to ask him. ‘Was I free anytime soon’? I would clear out my schedule for the rest of the century if it meant I could see Simon again. But, I had to remain calm. Cool. Collected. “I’ve got a concert with the London Phil in two days. I can get you tickets for free, and maybe we can go for dinner somewhere after? Or, we could meet after the show if you’re not into classical music. It’s a good set, though. We’re playing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. Personally, one of my favorite pieces.”

It became clear that Simon didn’t know what I was talking about. “I’m sure you’ll know it if you hear it.” I really needed to stop talking. I was nervous, and I ramble when I’m nervous. “Can I have your number? To text you the link to the tickets.” He nodded, and I gave him my phone. He put in his name and number, and handed it back. I looked at my watch, and it was much later than I had expected. Around half past eleven. It was going to take a while to get back to my place on the Tube.

“Baz?” Simon asked. “It’s getting kinda late. Can we pick up this conversation two days from now?”

“Of course! I hadn’t noticed the time. I can’t wait to see you there. The concert is at Royal Albert Hall, and you’ll have tickets. See you soon?” We got up, and Simon got his coat. Instead of a handshake, he pulled me in for a hug. He was shorter than I was, and seemed to fit perfectly in my arms.

“See you soon.” he confirmed, and shyly waved goodbye before exiting the restaurant. I left not long after, as soon as I had finished gathering up my things. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music Words:   
> Royal Conservatory: a well-respected music college in London  
> London Phil: short for London Philharmonic, one of the best orchestras in the world  
> Vivaldi: an baroque Italian composer, famous for works such as the Four Seasons and his Violin Concerto in A Minor  
> Four Seasons: Arguably Vivaldi's most famous piece, composed of four concertos, with three movements each. The movements all follow the same pattern (fast-slow-fast)


	4. Royal Albert Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon comes to Baz's concert. But, there's one pretty big detail Baz forgot to mention.

**_SIMON_ **

The London Philharmonic. I didn’t know much about London’s classical music scene, and even _I_ knew that that was impressive. I couldn’t wait for the day of the concert to come around. I had proposed to Agatha on a Friday night, so the concert was on Sunday. Not a great day for a date- people _do_ have to go to work on a Monday morning- but I was excited to see him nonetheless. After I went home from the restaurant, I got back on the Tube and rode home. I got into my bed, and didn’t wake up until noon the next day.

When Sunday rolled around, Baz still hadn’t texted me the tickets. I picked up my phone, and hesitantly typed his name into the new message box. “Hey…” I said as I typed. “Are we… still… on for tonight?”

A few minutes later, those dreaded three dots showed up. He was answering. A new bubble popped up, and it read, “Yes! Sorry I didn’t give you the link. I’ve been talking to the ticket guy trying to get you better seats. He said that you can just go up to the ticket box out the front and say you’re with me.” The three dots popped up again. “Actually, say you’re with Basilton Pitch. I use my full name with most of my business events.” I smiled and typed, “Why? See you soon :)”

I put my phone down and looked at the clock. It was around three, and I had some time to kill before I needed to be at the concert hall. I went back down to the kitchen and made myself something to eat. I can’t really remember what else I did to kill time. The only thing I do remember is the weird mirror image of what I did before I met Baz. I put a suit on, just like I did last time. I messed with my hair, just like I did last time. I locked my doors and walked the half a mile to the tube, just like I did last time. Only, now, I took a different train, and got off at a different stop.

The Royal Albert Hall is a huge, circular building on the edge of South Kensington. I walked up to it, with my phone and a brochure in hand, letting me know that there was, in fact, a concert tonight. The front page was adorned with a picture of an elderly man who I assumed was the conductor. He seemed to be having the time of his life waving around his little stick. The words at the bottom advertised "Vivaldi's Four Seasons".

I entered the front doors, and made my way to the ticket booth. I smiled as I walked up to the young girl sitting in the glass-enclosed booth. "Hello!" she said brightly. "I assume you're here for the Four Seasons concert tonight?" I smiled and said yes. "Do you have reserved seats or do you need to buy tickets?" she asked.

"Actually, I don't think I need either. My, um, friend Basilton is playing tonight. He said I could just tell you I'm with him?" I asked.

She frowned for a minute, and looked down to consult her list. "Mr. Snow?" she asked.

"Yes. That's me." I confirmed.

She pulled a ticket out from the depths of her booth. "Mr. Pitch requested we save a front-row seat for you. Stay on this floor, and take the middle door in. You're in seat A-11, in the orchestra section." She slid the ticket through the slot flush to the countertop as I thanked her. But, more importantly, I was wondering why on earth the hall had an 'orchestra section' when the orchestra played on the damn stage. Like, what was that all about?

I pushed that thought to the back of my mind and weaved through the crowd of people to the entrance of the hall. I flashed the usher at the door my ticket, and he pointed to the right aisle. Seat A-11 was pretty far up there. Just as the woman in the ticket booth promised, it was in the front row, almost in the dead center.

**_BAZ_ **

The concert was to start in less than half an hour, and I was a wreck. I was more nervous for this concert than I was for my college auditions. And those are way more important than this. I knew the house would be pretty full. After all, this is a popular piece with classical fans, as well as the general populace. I stood in one of the practice rooms, frantically playing through the spots I knew were the hardest. Thirty-second notes are not fun. Ever.

I saw through the window in the door that members of the orchestra were coming through backstage to take their places in their respective seats. That should have been my cue to leave, but I stayed in the practice room a little while longer. It was tradition for the soloist to come on last, after all. I had time. Then, a thought made it's way to the front of my mind.

_I didn't tell Simon I had the solo._

The poor bloke thought I would just be another violinist sitting in the section. He had no idea what was coming for him. And I would certainly enjoy seeing his face as I walked out onto the stage and started the Spring sonata. In my opinion, that was the most recognizable one. Just then, one of the second violins, my friend Niall, popped his head past the door.

"Oi. Pitch. That seat you saved for your mystery guest is full. Some guy with curly blond-ish hair. Is he the one?"

I put my violin down. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Any reason you've saved him a seat? Instead of making him buy a ticket?" Niall prodded.

"Perhaps because we're going out for a drink afterwards? And doing anything otherwise would be really damn rude?"

"Jeez. Anyway, most everyone's out there already. Get out of this tiny little room and backstage, or Maestro will have your ass."

He laughed, and left the door open as he made his way to his seat. I gave my bow a last little turn, tightening the hairs just a tad bit more. I left my case, though. I'd be back to get it later. I could hear applause as the conductor made his way from the wings onto his podium. A tuning sequence began just as I slipped through the backstage door. The sound died down, and one of the stagehands gave me the 'ok' so go on. I walked through the curtains, and was greeted with a wall of sound.

**_SIMON_ **

Everyone was in their seats already. So where was Baz? I did come to the _right_ concert, right? I was so busy looking that I barely noticed the orchestra begin to tune. Then, everyone around me began to clap. I looked up on stage, and Baz came striding out from in between the curtains. He was wearing a tuxedo, and had his hair pulled back in a half-bun, half-not-a-bun situation. He held his violin between his side and his arm, cradling the end in his other hand. He walked to the right of the conductor, and in front of what I assumed was the head violin guy.

I clapped as long as socially acceptable. The sound finally died down and the conductor lifted his arms in a big sweeping cue. Baz lifted his violin to his shoulder, and began to play as well. He was the soloist, apparently. And, he was right. I did know this piece. I let myself sink into the back of the chair a little bit more, as the familiar melody surrounded me. I had heard it before, but only now did I appreciate the complexity and speed of the solo. I mean, his hand was _way_ higher than I thought hands were supposed to be on the violin.

His bow tip was a blur as he moved effortlessly through the music, letting his fingertips dance across the strings. Soon, the Spring section was over, and the audience applauded once more. Logical reasoning told me that Summer would be next, and it was. However, I was not prepared for the intensity of the next movement. Before this, I would have never thought of classical music as forceful, and as, well, _intense_ , as this. This one seemed to be faster than the last, but Baz seemed to make it effortless. He moved with the music, swaying, and cueing the rest of the orchestra. He seemed to have a fire in him that not many of the other musicians had.

Even still, I couldn't tell you what the music sounded like. I focused more on Baz than I did Vivaldi's music, although I'm sure it was beautiful. I knew Baz was good, but I could have never have expected this. He was like an ethereal, magical, violin _god_. And I was going out with him afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry this took so long to get up. the holidays are a stressful time of year, especially with finals and all that crap. anyway, here it is! long-awaited concert scene. 
> 
> also im getting kinda lazy and i can't remember which musical words i've already lended you the defintion. if you don't know what something means, ask me, or the dictionary :))))


	5. Music Lecturer-er

**_SIMON_ **

The concert was bloody brilliant. Who knew that one song could make you feel so many emotions? And who knew that a certified uncultured man like myself could enjoy classical music? This Vivaldi guy needs more hype in the twenty-first century. Even I would take to the streets yelling his name. I mean, seriously. His music was _good_. But, enough about some old Italian dead guy. Maybe I should elaborate, and say that the real reason I loved the concert so much is because Baz played amazingly. The slow part of the summer movement was almost entirely solo, and a beautiful wavering sound came from his instrument and filled the hall, all the way to the last row in the nosebleeds.

I probably should have payed more attention to the rest of the orchestra, instead of just looking at Baz the whole time. It was hard not to, though. His bow moving back and forth was like a hypnotist's watch. Impossible to look away from. And holy crap, the way his fingers moved. Up and down the neck and over all the strings. It was like watching a machine. He played every note perfectly. Basilton Pitch. An entrancing, emotional, beautiful machine.

When the last song ended, and the conductor stepped down from his podium, the audience roared. I clapped so hard my hands hurt. As soon as the conductor waved his arm in Baz's direction, prompting him to take a bow, I was the first one on my feet. I don't know how you're supposed to applaud at a fancy concert like this, but I was cheering with all my might. I looked at Baz, and he looked down at me. I swear I saw the faintest of smiles play upon his lips.

Look at me. One classical concert and I'm talking like Ye Olde Shakespeare. "Faintest of Smiles. Play upon his lips". What am I thinking?

People began to file out of their seats and through the doors in the back of the hall. Baz and the rest of the orchestra members started to leave the stage as well. I waited until it was my turn to exit the row and head out towards the lobby. This was the part I was confused about. Where would Baz and I meet? There were so many people milling about in the entryway that it would be impossible to find each other. I leant against a wall near one of the staircases and shot him a text.

"Hey. The concert was fantastic! Where should I meet you?" I said.

Just a few moments later came his reply. "I'm packing up and backstage at the minute. Give me five and meet me at the bottom of the staircase by the men's rooms." I got up from against the wall, and headed down the corridor and to the stairs in question. It wasn't that hard to find, considering I'd never been here before.

I waited, and soon Baz strode into view. He was still wearing his tux, but with a peacoat over it. His case was slung over his right shoulder, and he was carrying a small briefcase filled with what I assumed were assorted music things. Sheet music and such. Maybe his clothes from earlier?

"Simon! How are you?" he called.

"I'm good. But you're... you were spectacular tonight! I mean- just wow. I knew you could play, but I wasn't aware I was signing up for all this!" I sputtered. Come on, Simon. Use your words properly.

"Thanks!" his face melted into a soft smile. "It's one of my favorite pieces to play."

"I didn't know classical music was that crazy." I laughed.

"Well, I'm glad you had a good first experience. Now, food and drink first. Talk later. I'm absolutely ravenous. Anywhere in particular you fancy tonight?" he asked.

"I'm not all that familiar with Kensington. You know anywhere?"

"Yes, but not anywhere all that suitable for the occasion. For such a nice neighborhood, you'd be surprised at the distinct lack of good pubs." Aw, he wanted to go to a pub. Truly a man after my own heart.

"So, where would you suggest?" "There's a tube station in Knightsbridge. Do you mind hopping on a train?"

"Not at all."

"Then on to Chelsea. We'll get off in Sloane Square- if you don't mind a bit of a walk." I didn't. It was pretty mild for a winter evening in London. And for once, it wasn't raining. I helped him gather his things and we headed out the door, making pleasant chit-chat on our way to the station. We didn't have to wait long for a train, and our ride wasn't that long either. If it were just me, I would have just walked. Even if it was a relatively long walk to Chelsea from the Hall.

We got off at Sloane Square, and walked back up to the surface level. We took a right out of the square, onto King's Road, and Baz told me that the restaurant he had in mind was only a few more blocks down. I was still blabbering about the concert, and Baz was entertaining me with new facts about classical music. For instance, I _definitely_ didn't know that Bach had been thrown in jail. I guess you learn something new every day.

As he was giving me his crash course in classical music, we stopped in front of a restaurant called the "Ivy Chelsea Garden", not far from Chelsea Common. I had heard of this place before, and it was supposed to be nice. And it _looked_ nice. We walked in, and the hostess took his name, and marked his reservation. Why did he have a reservation if he asked me where I wanted to go? Strange. We came to our table, and Baz put our coats and his violin things in their coat check. I was excited to eat here. It wasn't a pub, which is a nice change of pace. All the people here looked fancy, as well. Baz in his concert tux certainly fit in, even if he was a tad overdressed.

**_BAZ_ **

I had made reservations for a nice place, and I hoped Simon didn't have anywhere else in mind. He didn't, and that was nice. I wanted to take him here, as it's become a little tradition of mine to treat myself to a meal here after a big solo concert. The table was lit with a warm candlelight, and Simon's face was nicely illuminated. His eyes shone in the acute brightness as he read over the menu.

"Wow, Baz. This place is nice. I mean, they've got actual caviar and truffles on the menu."

"I would spare no expense for my date." I laughed. The word slipped out of my mouth. I wasn't sure if it was an official date, and we had made no specifications as to whether it was. Maybe Simon thought it was just a 'guys-going-for-drinks' situation. I hoped it wasn't, so I guess a little hint isn't that bad?

"And I'm ecstatic that my date would spare no expense for me." Aha! He said it was a date too. Maybe this could go somewhere?

We ordered, and ate our food while continuing our conversation from earlier. "How do you know all this stuff?" he asked in disbelief.

"This is what going to college for music will do to you, my friend."

"Well, I'm glad _I_ didn't go. I can just get all the information from you." he smiled smugly.

"Of course. Stick around, maybe another date, and I'll give you all the boring lectures you want."

"Basilton Pitch. Music Lecturer-er and my date. Has a nice ring to it, I've got to admit." Simon just said I was his date! Again! It was small, but it's the little things that add up to the greatest experiences. To round out our perfectly cliche night, we ordered another glass of wine each, and shared a piece of cake. Just like we did the first time we met. Except this time, Simon's eyes were shining with joy instead of tears.

As we finished, Simon said, "So, when will I get to see you again, my dear? Got any other concerts coming up? Any events?"

"Are you really that anxious to see my beautiful self again?" I gave him my trademark cocksure grin.

"Um..." Simon became visibly flustered. "Maybe?"

"I'll allow you to indulge." I struck a couple ridiculous poses as Simon made clicking sounds as he took photos with his imaginary camera. "Simon, darling, just this once. I'm too good for you." I laughed. He pretended to stow his camera and Simon rolled his eyes.

"Don't be crazy. If there's anyone allowed to be _crazy_ , it's me." he said, as he stepped closer, reached onto his tiptoes and gave me a peck on the cheek. I was so glad it was night, because I'm positive we were both blushing and smiling like a couple of idiots. Two very in love idiots.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. He is the light to my dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey kiddos!!!! i'm so sorry i havent posted in like 293746237 years. i've been at my grandmother's house- and they don't have a great internet connection. i hope everyone had a good holiday season- and for my present to you- a longer-than-usual-chapter! full to the brim with some pretty good stuff, i must say so myself. hope you enjoy!
> 
> as usual- comments and kudos is much appreciated! ;)

**_BAZ_ **

That wasn't our last date. After our "kiss" at the Ivy Chelsea Garden, we went home to our respective houses, and immediately made plans to see each other again. I don't know about Simon, but that kiss, even if it wasn't on the lips, stuck around in my mind for a long time. We saw each other next for a walk in Richmond Park. It was London's largest park, and it was nice to stroll around and see if we could spot any deer. For almost the entirety of the walk, we held hands. I also found out that Simon moved out from his flat in Chiswick. Apparently an old friend called Penelope heard about what happened and offered him a room in her place. It seemed like a good arrangement for him, and it gave him a location a bit closer to me, in the city center.

I lived in Westminster. My house on Regency Street had been in my family for, well, ever. My parents offered me this place when I left school. After all, before I moved in, it was hardly ever used. The rest of my family lived on their estate in Cheltenham, way out in Gloucestershire. We usually met near my place, often in a little cafe, or outside a restaurant. A couple weeks ago, we went to see a movie. In retrospect, this is a bit creepy, but I watched Simon more than I did the actual movie. He escorted me home afterwards, and he lingered in the doorway for a bit longer than necessary. We saw each other at least a few times a week after that. When he walked me home and stood at my door after a nice lunch at a Thai place, I finally asked, “Do you want to come in?”

After the question was asked, he stared at me like a deer in headlights for a moment, like he was still processing the information. “Oh, um, yeah. Sure.” he said. I led him down the main hallway, and to the living room at the back of the house.

“Would you like anything to drink?” I asked. He politely declined, and instead opted to look at the books on the coffee table. I sat down on the sofa next to him, and started to narrate the pictures he was looking at. That was the first time Simon came to my house. After that, he started to come around more often, usually using a dumb excuse to justify his presence there. One time it was, “Penelope has her boyfriend over, and I felt awkward being there.” One time it was, “I was in the area, and I wanted to come and see how you were doing.”

I told him that if he wanted to come over, he could just ask. No excuse necessary. He blushed and pushed his hair out of his eyes and said, “Okay, then.” The next date we went on was a trip to the Tate Modern. It was one of my favorite museums, and contemporary art was one of the only styles that Simon really took a liking to. He said it was, “Weird. And weird is cool.”

It was on that date that Simon kissed me, for real, this time. We had just come outside, and were walking alongside the riverbank. We found a bench, and sat and watched the pigeons peck around our feet. He leant his head against my shoulder, and I squeezed his hand a little tighter. He said, “Baz?”

I looked down at him. “Yeah?” His cheeks were tinged pink from the cold, as well as his nose.

“I really like doing things with you. They’re really fun.”

“There is nothing _fun_ about almost getting kicked out because you tried to straddle an abstract statue you thought looked like a horse!” I laughed, and elbowed him. He sat up, and faced me.

“Is that really all you got from our wonderfully cultured excursion today?” He looked at me in mock disgust.

“Maybe.” I said, suppressing yet another smile. I almost couldn’t stop smiling when I was around Simon. He seemed to infuse the air with his happiness.

“What I _meant_ was that not only do I like going on dates with you, but I just like being with you. Baz, I’ve only felt like this with Agatha before. I think I’m in love with you.”

“You big sap. I love you too. Come here.” I opened my arms, and Simon leaned in for a hug. He then pulled my face down to meet his, and gently, slowly, placed his lips on mine. When they finally touched, he sat up, and held me closer. I tilted my head to the side, as a silent invitation to continue. We finally came up for air, and he just _looked_ at me for a moment. Like, really truly looked not at me, but _into_ me.

“God, Simon. I _love you_.”

Fast forward a couple of months, and he casually offered up the idea of moving in together. It seemed like an obvious next step, considering he lived with a roommate in a tiny flat and I had a big townhouse and nobody but me to live in it. I drove over to his building, and helped him put his things in boxes. It was just his clothes, and books, and other personal things. All the furniture was Penelope’s. We drove home in silence, just listening to the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof, and watching streams of water flow down the windows.

It didn’t take long to put his things away. I gave him a bedroom to put stuff in, but after dinner, that night, we slept in the same bed. It was easy. Comfortable. So foreign, but so familiar at the same time. It was like he was made to fit around me, and I was meant to fit into him, even though I had a few inches of height on him. We woke up with the sun streaming through the curtains, and the gentle background of city bustle floating through the air. We had become a tangle of limbs, all wrapped around each other and not wanting to leave. It was a Sunday, so we didn’t have to. We stayed in the bed together, just _being,_ until at least 2:30 in the afternoon.

**_SIMON_ **

I woke up next to Baz. He was still asleep, and his head was still draped across my shoulder. He looked so at peace, so perfect when sleep stilled his features. His hair fanned out behind him, and I could feel little puffs of breath against my skin. He looked so angelic, soft and sharp features mixing together to create, in my mind, at least, absolute perfection. A memory creeped to the front of my mind, and replayed itself in vivid clarity. Our first date. Something he said to me. I knew he was joking, but something about the phrase really struck clear with me.

“Simon, I’m too good for you.”

He had said it with a laugh and a smile, while striking crazy poses. It was a lighthearted jest in the heat of the moment. But it didn’t _feel_ like that. When I was alone, this thought always seemed to worm it’s way into my conscious. Almost like I wanted it to be true. I mean, I wasn’t wrong. I didn’t deserve him. Baz was perfect in every facet of his life. It was like the angels sprinkled a little too much ‘amazing-ness’ onto him. I was just a nobody. An orphan. Someone who couldn’t even keep his girlfriend of more than five years.

I didn’t talk to him until we finally got out of bed. All I can remember is us slipping in and out of sleep’s grasp. We finally trudged downstairs to get something to eat, and the same thought was swirling around my head. It seemed to cloud my vision and mute the world around me. I vaguely remember Baz asking me if I wanted water or not. I just nodded my head. I picked at the dinner he had made us. It wasn’t anything special- just a croque monsieur- but I didn’t really want to have to do with anything _Baz_ right now. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to eat the food he made. When he was finished, I quietly excused myself and plodded back upstairs.

This time, however, I made a left at the landing instead of a right, and fell onto my bed instead of his. I didn’t bother to get under the covers, or turn the light on. Never mind moving the boxes either. I was all consumed by this one thought.

_Simon, I’m too good for you. I’m too good for you. Simon, I’m too-. -ood for you. Too good for you. Too good. -for you. Simon, I’m too good for you. I’m too good for you. Simon, I’m too-. -ood for you. Too good for you. Too good. -for you. Simon, I’m too good for you. I’m too good for you. Simon, I’m too-. -ood for you. Too good for you. Too good. -for you. Simon, I’m too good for you. I’m too good for you. Simon, I’m too-. -ood for you. Too good for you. Too good. -for you._

I don’t remember crying, but I do remember the tears dampening my pillowcase. I don’t remember curling around myself instead of Baz, but I do remember how sore I was when I moved. I don’t remember hearing Baz walk up the stairs and check for me in his room, but I do remember how unbearably loud his voice was when he opened my door.

“Simon? You don’t want to sleep with me?”

**_BAZ_ **

“Simon? You don’t want to sleep with me?”

The light from the hall spilled into his room, casting my shadow onto the floor. I couldn’t see him, though. I guess he was on the other side.

“Simon?”

I looked to my right, and I could see what I assumed was him, all curled up on the bed. He slowly, gingerly, turned to look at me, and when his face finally turned to me, the light lit up his tear-stained face. Tears? I had noticed he seemed sullen and withdrawn during dinner, but I thought he was just tired. I was kicking myself for not noticing something was seriously wrong. He sat up, and crossed his legs like a child would.

‘Baz, do you love me?”

That stopped me in my tracks. “Of course I love you. What makes you say-?”

“Why?” he interrupted me. All of the usual adult seriousness that he adopted was gone from his voice. The way he looked up at me held so much child-like innocence. So much vulnerability. So much trust.

“Why do you love me? You’re _you_ and I’m just me. I don’t deserve you.” he choked down a sob. I sat down on the bed next to him, and started to put my arm around him. Instead of him leaning in like he normally did, he flinched, and scooted away. He brought his knees up to his chest and wiped his eyes.

I tried my best to maintain a calm exterior, but I was completely and utterly confused. First, he asks if I love him. And _I do._ Now, he doesn’t even want me to touch him. “Simon, don’t be ridiculous. I love you more than anything. You know that, right?”

“And I get that,” he started, “but why? I’m a screw-up. I can’t do anything right. And you’re so _perfect_ all the time. You’re so smart, like you know all these facts about all these intellectual topics, and I just sit and listen. And you have a good job, doing something you love. Not to mention, that you play the violin like, I dunno, God himself. And you’re handsome, and you’re kind, and you’ve got this great house, and you’ve just got everything anyone would ever want. And you’re mine but I don’t know why you like _me_ of all people. There’s probably a bloke out there, somewhere, that matches you perfectly. But you’re stuck with me. A guy that can’t even propose right.” Tears flowed freely from his eyes now.

“Simon, I love you because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Every time we go out together, I’m just in awe of you. How you’re always the first one to give your seat to an old woman on the Tube. How you talk to the kids we see every now and again. I know that you always pay for the person behind us at Starbucks. When we were moving you out of Penelope’s flat, and you were outside, she was telling me about you. And she told me about the time when you were in school and you sat down at whichever lunch table had the fewest people and just genuinely tried to be nice to whoever was there with you.”

“But-” Simon said.

“Nope. Let me finish. And if you’re feeling sorry for yourself, just know that everyone’s got flaws. People don’t like me because I look scary sometimes. People don’t like me because I come off as cold. But, am I like that with you? No. Because you make me this way. We _do_ match each other, perfectly. If this were a romance novel, the author would probably say something like ‘he was the light to his dark’ or something cliche like that. And you know, I’m fine with that.”

“I’m the light to your dark.” Simon repeated slowly.

“If there’s anything more poetic that you can come up with, feel free to say. But for now, I think that matches us pretty well.” I reached to take Simon’s hand, and this time, he let me. I pulled him in, so he was almost in my lap, and then I laid us down onto the bed, our heads resting on the still-wet pillowcase.

“Did I ever tell you what I thought about the time we met? I know it was kind of a disaster for you, but before the gig, I wasn’t all that excited. But, when I first saw you, the only thing I could think was ‘at least I’ll get to look at a hot guy’. That’s how useless I am. And when I got to talking to you, I still thought you were hot, but I realized that there was so much more to you than that. There’s a whole world inside you head, Simon Snow, and I wished I lived in it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop i know simon's pov is pretty short in this but...what did you guys think?????!?!?!


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys!

Sorry to disappoint you but this isn't a real update. Sorry :(

Anyway I'm here to tell you that I've got a lot going on at the moment, and that's why it's been a while since I've written anything.

You know how school is. I've also got an All-State Orchestra audition on Saturday! Wish me luck! (im gonna need it oml send help instead)

But next week, expect another chapter up. I've got one more for you to wrap everything up. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Simon and Baz realize things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REJOICE! the final chapter!!! tying up loose ends- you know the drill. 
> 
> for those wondering if i made the audition: i didn't!!! ::::))) i sounded like,,,,idk,,, god himself warming up and in the actual audition, i sounded worse than a dying cat. but, other doors opened up (non-music-related), so life is good. 
> 
> OH ALSO I WAS PROMOTED TO CONCERTMASTER (basically the best violinist) IN MY SCHOOL ORCHESTRA AND BEAT OUT A TON OF SENIORS TO GET THERE!

**_SIMON_ **

Baz stayed in my room that night, before slinking out sometime in the morning to make us coffee and breakfast. He came up with a big wooden tray, and laid it across my lap as he joined me, once again, in bed. Before he did, however, he opened the curtains, to let the light in. We sat with our backs to the headboard and sat quietly, sipping our coffee and picking at the toast. Soft clippings of conversation occasionally permeated the silence. Nothing deep, or anything that required a lot of thinking to understand. Things like, “Would you mind passing the butter?” or, “We got an invitation to one of my friend’s dinner party on Friday night. Do you want to go, or shall I say we’re busy?”

When Baz finished, I put the tray on the bedside table and got right back into the same sitting position. This time, though, I looked at Baz’s profile, and finally started to see what Baz had been talking about. His eyes were deep-set, but I liked them all the same. His nose was just a bit big for his face, but it was still a nice nose.

“Nothing’s changed from last night, right? You still like me, and everything?” I asked cautiously.

He looked back over at me. “Why would you say that? I thought I made it pretty clear I’m head over heels.”

“I know, I know… It’s just that I’ve been thinking-”

"That's never good."

“-about all the things I said last night, and they still ring just a little bit true. Like, you  _ are _ too good for me-” Baz opened his mouth to protest, and I held a hand up. I was trying to plead my case. “-But I’m going to enjoy it. We’re evenly matched, you and I. You can educate me on all things intellectual, and I can show you where to get the best chip butty. As you said, light and dark. Sun and moon. Book smarts versus street smarts. And I’m happy with that.” I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder.

He put down his mug, and interlaced his fingers with mine. “I’m happy that you’re happy. I know that last night had an impact on you. Me too, actually. I never once saw any of that in you before. You never said anything, or did anything to make me think that you felt that way. Why?” he seemed genuinely concerned, but I felt that neither of us wanted to hear my honest answer. 

“I… um, I was- I was scared.” Baz sat upright, unintentionally pushing my head off his shoulder. I sat up, too.

“Scared to _ talk _ to me? You’re my bloody boyfriend, Snow. You’ve  _ got  _ to talk to me. You  _ need  _ to be able to talk to me. Why would you even think that you couldn’t?” Baz asked in disbelief.

“I said this last night but you’re, well, you! The incredibly cliche strong, silent type. And I  _ know  _ that we’re together and that if this is going to work, we need to talk but I just… I don’t know, okay?” I said in a huff. I don’t know what was keeping me from actually talking to Baz, and I didn’t have the words to explain it in a coherent way.

“Simon, I-”

“No. I’m sorry. I lashed out, and I shouldn’t have…” I let my voice taper off, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. Baz scooted closer, and ran his thumbs underneath my eyes to catch the fresh-fallen tears.

“Hey,” he said softly, “Don’t cry. And don’t be sorry. It was miscommunication on both of our sides. You shouldn’t have kept quiet, and I shouldn’t have been such an idiot by thinking that you were okay. I love you. Don’t doubt that, ever.” He pressed a soft kiss to my hairline, and moved the tray and mugs to one of the bedside tables. He laid back down and beckoned me to join him. Just like before, we didn’t get back out of bed until past noon.

**_BAZ_ **

The only way I can think to describe our relationship is with a mirror. A messed-up, funhouse mirror, where sometimes you look normal, and sometimes you’re a disfigured, twisted version of yourself. Our timeline was full of parallels, some good, and some bad. Good, like how we followed the same pattern after every one of my concerts. Find a restaurant, have a glass of wine each, and split a dessert. Good, like how I would oftentimes catch Simon belting his heart out to some pop song, and then he would see me and dissolve into giggles. But this, this was a cruel reversal of what I thought was bliss.

Here we were, lying in bed, well into the afternoon, and the first time it happened, I was in heaven. I had no idea of the thoughts flying around Simon’s head. I was at peace, and he was at war. Now, the situation was flipped. He looked far more relaxed, as if while I was talking, all the tension melted from his shoulders. At peace. Now I was the one with the all-consuming thoughts, and the worries sitting front and center in my mind. At war.

I tried so hard to stop thinking about it. I promise I focused on  _ anything _ else. The way the light fell through the open windows and onto the opposite wall. The muted sound of horns from the road below. That is, until, Simon spoke again.

“Baz, you’re tense. Are you thinking, too?” I took a deep breath in through my nose.

“Maybe.”

“You told me to stop. Practice what you preach, right? Come ‘ere.” He pulled me down, farther, under the covers, and held me, face to face. I watched him breathe, and felt the little warm puffs heat the little space between us. “Stop thinking, Baz.” He reached up and pressed a chaste kiss to my lips. I ran a hand over my eyes, trying to rub away all the stress, and just live in the moment.

“Stop thinking, and be here with me.” Another kiss. This time, returned. “Be  _ here. _ ”

It’s all I’d ever wanted. None of my previous relationships had been like this. Simon made me feel. He opened up the world to me in ways I’d never imagined. All my life, I had pressured myself to be  _ the best _ , always on top, the first one to master the piece. But, I could let my guard down around Simon, and he didn’t care. He loved me for who I was. Not who I pretended to be.

He wasn’t an audience I had to perfect a piece for. He wasn’t a judge for an audition. There was no test to pass, and if there was, I had passed it long ago. I,  _ we _ , had worked for what our relationship was now, and I wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from us. Not even if the people working against us were ourselves. I never told Simon this, but after our first kiss, I had promised myself that I would love him more than I loved myself. I thought,  _ That can’t be hard. I was never the biggest fan of me. _ But being there, in that bed with the covers tangled around our legs, I realized that Simon had done more than love me.

He had taught me to love myself.

And maybe that’s why it pained me to see him like this. Because I knew what it felt like to doubt every move you make. I know what it felt like to wonder if everything you’re doing is just for show. I hated that he felt like that. I wasn’t sure what I could do besides reassuring him. Telling him that I  _ do _ love him, both with and without words.

In that moment, I realized something. I finally knew what love was. I knew how the composers of past times felt when they wrote their masterworks. I finally knew what Elgar was trying to get across in one of his most famous pieces. I knew why he wrote it, why he named it what he did. 

Hello to love. 

_ Salut d'Amour.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really do want to thank you guys for sticking with me through this. this is my first real multichaptered fic with like, an actual plot, and it's been a learning curve. 
> 
> thank you so much for all the kudos and supportive comments!
> 
> kids- this one's for you.

**Author's Note:**

> Music words:  
> \- solo: a piece played by one instrument.  
> \- chamber music: music written for a quartet (two violins, one viola, and a cello), that was originally played at parties and events  
> \- soloist: a musician that plays a solo.  
> \- rosin: a resin rubbed on the bow hairs to make them stick to the string, therefore giving a better sound  
> \- Handel: a German (later, British) composer (1685-1759) who wrote music for the church, as well as concertos often played at weddings.  
> \- Haydn: an Austrian composer (1732-1809) who wrote music for the church. His music sounds like Handel's. (To me, at least.)  
> \- concerto: a piece of music written for a single instrument, or an orchestra. Usually composed of 3-4 movements.  
> \- Mendelssohn: a German composer (1809-1847) whose music is part of the Romantic Era.  
> -Tchaikovsky: a Russian composer (1840- 1893) whose music is part of the Romantic Era.


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